approach to Christian Wilson, as Madeira or Malta would be to a civic gallant of the present time.

But Christian Wilson was a youth of very peculiar temperament--clever and active, but rash and inconsiderate. He had some acquaintances of rather questionable respectability, and having ascertained that the smacks which traded between Wexford and Dublin, if favoured by a fair wind, could make the run in a few hours, he determined on seeing Mary Tudor. His father had allowed him, as a perquisite, the profits arising from making "balloon guineas" into rings, and he had thereby saved up a few pounds, for it was a very prevalent custom for females of the humbler class to invest a guinea in a ring, and carry their money on their fingers. Savings banks were then unknown.

Christian informed his father, that he wished to go for a few days to a friend in Drogheda, and obtained his consent. He left home in the evening ostensibly to go by the mail, but he sojourned to Hoey's Court, and was seen there in company with several young men whose characters were unknown or worse. They left Hoey's Court about ten o'clock, and Wilson betook himself to Sir John's Quay, and went out of the river in the smack "Selskar" of Wexford, on the night tide. After midnight Dick Tudor's workshop was robbed by four persons, but the guilty parties did not all escape. Two were apprehended leaving the premises, and were recognized as having been in Christian Wilson's society in Hoey's Court for a considerable time after even his own father believed him to have left Dublin for Drogheda. A letter was posted to the latter place, and to old Wilson's astonishment he received a reply, that his son had not gone there. Where was he?

Whispered malice is the most intense. Delancy and his son added assertion to suspicion, and revelled in the idea of a broken-hearted father, and a disgraced, degraded son, being forced by the awkward circumstances, magnified, exaggerated, and industriously disseminated, to abandon, one the coveted representation of the goldsmiths' guild, and the other, the pursuit to which all the affections of his heart and the energy of his mind converged-the love of Mary Tudor.

In a few days Christian Wilson returned to Dublin. His father's reproaches were fierce and unmeasured, and became a perfect storm of rage when the young man refused to state where he had been, or for what purpose he had quitted the city. Old Tudor aggravated the quarrel between the father and son, by accusing them both of a design to entrap his daughter into a clandestine union, to which James Wilson replied, that he would sooner transport his son than consent to his marriage with Tudor's daughter. The circumstances of the robbery were investigated fully; they did not directly inculpate Christian Wilson, but enough appeared to sully his reputation, and fully to prove that he was not sufficiently careful in his associations. Old Delancy expressed his good-natured regret that the son of one

"Wainscot man' should be strongly suspected of robbing another; young Delancy with more benevolence expressed his sincere gratification that Christian Wilson had not been caught, and there were not wanting other kind-hearted individuals to convey his observations to the unfortunate subject of them. The young men casually met in Christ Church yard; an explanation was demanded, and the demand was answered by the sneering remark, that the case explained itself. Christian was maddened by his rival's taunts, and gave Delancy a fearful beating. A blow or a fall produced concussion of the brain. The assailant had to fly, and his father determined to send him, banished and unforgiven, to the West Indies, consiguing him to the care of a relative who had been for several years settled in Barbadoes.

Mary Tudor received a letter written at Liverpool, and-announcing the departure of Christian Wilson for Barbadoes. In it he simply stated the circumstances which led to his expatriation, and conveyed to her the written vows of deep affection and fidelity. The young woman at once insisted on departing from Kilmore for Dublin, and on her arrival placed Christian's letter in her father's hands. She insisted on the examination of the master and crew of the "Selskar;" and they proved that they dropped down the river with the tide, with Christian on board, two hours before the time of the robbery; but this was not all: The guilty parties confessed that the young man was not with them, and accounted for having sought his society in Hoey's court, for the purpose of gaining some information from the unsuspecting young man as to Tudor's premises, and the easiest way of effecting an entrance. Young Delancy had recovered, Tudor and James Wilson had been reconciled, but Christian had sailed in the ship "Hyacinth" of Liverpool, and he must see Barbadoes before he could become aware of Mary's truth, and her determined exertions to remove all aspersions from her lover's cha

racter.

The "Hyacinth," never reached her destined port; her fate was enveloped in obscurity. Her owners received their insurance as for a total loss, aud James Wilson believed that his hapless son had been entombed in the ocean.

At the commencement of the war between England and her revolted colonies of North America, two commissioners were sent out in the hope that differences might be reconciled, and peace restored. The Earl of Carlisle and Mr. Eden were proceeding in a British frigate on this mission, and after having encountered very stormy weather, a boat was seen in which three young men were found reduced to the utmost extremity, by hunger and fatigue. They were rescued, and re

In the old Tholsel, the sheriff's peers, and members of the guild of merchants, occupied the centre of the Common Council chamber, the members of the junior guilds sat next the wainscot. They had the reputation of being the most independent members of the corporation. The celebrated Charles Lucas (whose statue is in the present Town hall), frequently used the expression, "The Wainscot men are the honest men."

covered their strength by rest and nutrition. Two of them were sailors, who entered amongst the frigate's crew; the third was a landsman; he was reserved and melancholy, and of an humble and unpresuming manner; he professed an anxiety to make himself useful, cleaned some watches for the officers, and repaired a few articles of plate. Curiosity induced Lord Carlisle to accost him, and the conversation resulted in several acts of kindness on the part of the nobleman, which were respectfully, and gratefully, and perhaps we may say gracefully, received by the other. His Lordship's interest in the poor shipwrecked fellow increased, and on their arrival in America, he obtained for his protegé, from Sir Henry Clinton, a commission in the army.

Meanwhile, Christian Wilson was forgotten in Skinner Row by all except one. They had "mourn'd him dead in his fathers house." His family never adverted to his fate, for the subject was of painful recollection in more senses than one. But Mary Tudor, though she seldom spoke of Christian, would not admit that he was dead. Suitors for her hand were numerous, but to none would she give the slightest encouragement, and Delancy soon discovered that indifference was too mild a term to describe her feelings towards him. Years had passed, Dick Tudor had become very old; he lived happily with his daughter, who consulted his wishes on every subject, -except his anxiety to see her married respectably before he died. She was approaching her thirtieth birthday. She was particularly intimate in the house of a bookseller who lived close by; in fact it was her only intimacy, and in the family of this person she frequently avowed her conviction, that the "lost one" would return.

One evening the bookseller received a note requesting him to call as soon as possible upon a gentleman at the Queen's Head Hotel, in Bride street, He repaired to the appointed place; in consequence of what there occurred, he had an interview next morning with Richard Tudor and James Wilson, and prevailed upon them to accompany him to Cork hill, about eleven A.M.; and there he pointed out to the astonished and delighted old men, Captain Christian Wilson, of his Majesty's 60th regiment, marching up to relieve the Castle guard.

Our tale concludes; the lovers met, and were united; old Tudor was rich; his closing years were happy. Wilson retired from the army and purchased a fine property in a southern county, where the descendants of him and Mary Tudor are living in comfort and respectability.

Our readers may criticise this narrative and remark, why did the hero keep his very existence concealed so long? They may indulge in suspicions, that the lovers had some communication or correspondence. We have nothing to offer in reference to such remarks, except the assurance, that what is submitted to their perusal Is STRICTLY TRUE. At the time various conjectures were indulged; much was said and something was sung. Kit Rooney, a poetic basket-maker in Fishamble street, made a song on the subject, and of his lyric my old friend recollected only a fragment:

"Some folk averr'd a bird was heard To Mary's casement nigh;

And from its throat there thrilled the note, 'He's coming bye and bye.'

Some said there came with war-worn frame
A vet'ran grenadier,

Who spoke of one that led him on,
Through battle's fierce career.

Some said between them both had been
Of love notes not a few;
But this was clear, he did appear,
And wed his maiden true.

Through Skinner Row the toast must go,
And our cheers reach Christ Church yard,
Till its vaults profound send back the sound,
To waken the Tholsel guard.*

Here's to their health, in peace and wealth,
And may Death, that bold intruder,
A long while pause ere he lays his claws
On such as MARY TUDOR."

LITTLE LENCHEN'S RUSTICATION.

CHAPTER I

A COUNCIL IS HELD AND AN ORDER ISSUED.

TEARS and entreaties were of no avail; all Fraulein Lenchen's pretty little winning ways were unheeded; even her expostulations and prayers were thrown away; her last arguments failed of effect. A solemn council had been convoked, and an autocratic mandate issued. Poor little maiden!

The members of the privy-council were three in number. First, there was the Herr Papa, wise, determined, and, of course, more or less cruel. There was the good mamma, anxious, nervous, and almost weeping. Last, though certainly not least important, there was the old, tyrannical, relentless, pitiless Herr Doctor, with his long-winded speeches about delicacy of constitution, injurious effects of crowded rooms, the prostration consequent on excessive excitement, and twenty other things, equally dogmatic, equally heartless, and, worst of all, equally self-evident.

Indeed, what this third privy-councillor propounded was so incontrovertible that the old Herr Doctor had it all his own way in the council-chamber. Having viewed the subject under discussion in every possible way, the Herr considerately reduced the poor mamma's spirits to the lowest degree of misery, by declaring his firm conviction that the young Fraulein had, so to speak, one foot already in the grave. This soothing speech being duly delivered, the Herr Doctor frowned, shook his head, assumed an air of profound professional wisdom, threw himself back in his chair, and stared alternately at the Herr Papa and the now-sobbing Frau Mamma finishing his dictum, as was his custom, by elevating his cane above his head, and then letting it slip through his fingers, so that the ferule came down

* The Tholsel guard was not required to be awake unless at meal times,

with a sharp bang against the table; the action and sound expressing distinctly: "I have driven the nail home."

Alas for the little Fraulein, weeping and fretting upstairs in her pretty chamber! There was an order in council; a cruel order-a heart-breaking order-a most tyrannical order; and this was its import:

That whereas, it having been duly proved and attested that the frequent headaches and present languor of the Fraulein Lenchen, one and all, resulted from the exhalations of ball-rooms, and the overstraining of the muscular and vascular systems by incessant capering, together with the many injurious customs of a gay city life;-a cessation of such things was necessary. And it was decided that banishment into the country was the punishment due to the offender for leading such a restless life.

So the old Herr Doctor went on his way triumphant. Then the two remaining members of the conncil looked at each other and put their parental heads together for a second consultation. "The sooner Lenchen was made acquainted with the resolution come to the better," observed the Herr Papa. "True, she was at times rather passionate and hard to manage. But what of that? Better to disregard an outbreak of the kind—a tempest in the tea-urn. Let the weak-minded mamma look at him and mark his stern resolution. No tears in his eyes, although he loved the child. No vacillation about him, although he would rather not part from his daughter. Let the mamma imitate his example. And— and now it would be well for the mamma to proceed at once to break matters to the little Lenchen up stairs."

After all the pretty little Lenchen was to be pitied. Six months had not yet elapsed since her return from the convent wherein she had been educated, and it was only three months since she had made her entrée into society, into the gay world about which the pensionnaires used to talk and wonder so much. And Lenchen, being a fragile little flower, had drooped under the too ardent sunshine of her enjoyment: after her very first campaign the little campaigner was forced to retreat to recruit her forces.

I appeal to any young demoiselle of my acquaintance, who, in the midst of her first season, is in the full enjoyment of balls, parties, concerts, beaux, compliments, and the rest, particularly if the young lady happens to be very pretty, and very gay, and very much admired; and I ask her if my Lenchen was not an object of pity?

I do not wish to deny that the little girl was, at times, passionate and self-willed. I believe I have already hinted at the existence of those faults. Such being the case, it is not to be supposed that the distressing mandate of the privy-council was received by the Fraulein Lenchen with anything like placidity or resignation. Some young damsels there are who are naturally lamb-like and yielding others there are who by their own efforts, and the wholesome admonitions of others, succeed in the acquirement of a becoming softness and pliability. honour to such young maidens: this is as it should be. But I must confess that little Lenchen was neither

All

lamb-like nor very yielding. As I have already said, she, the pet of the house, was often passionate and impatient of control.

So, as the Herr Papa had expected, there was a tiny storm upstairs when the mamma announced the decision of the council. A little tempest in the tea-urn, as he had expected, there was; but, though fie.ce enough while it lasted, nothing like the explosion of a steamengine boiler. Upon this also the wise Herr Papa had counted. And, indeed, one blessing in those possessed of such uncomfortable things as passionate tempers is, that such outbreaks are seldem of long duration, and once over, are soon forgotten. Give me twenty passions rather than one fit of sullens.

This, however, is not to the point at all. The tiny tempest having exhausted itself, Lenchen at once began to reproach herself for it, and with tears in her eyes, she showed her penitence. Then she and the good mamma kissed and cuddled most tenderly, and then they dried their tears, and smoothed their hair, ́and settled their caps-the mamma settled hers, I meanand then they sat down to discuss matters quietly.

Then did the good mamma remind her April-faced Lenchen how, for the last six months, Aunt Caroline, who lived with her husband and family at a remote country-seat-far off indeed it was-had again and again expressed her intense desire to receive a visit from the niece, whom she had last seen when the young lady was learning to use her tiny limbs for something besides kicking and dangling.

Finally, it was decided that Aunt Caroline's warm invitation should be accepted, and that very evening a letter was sent off to announce the projected visit. And little Lenchen went to bed, wondering what kind of place her aunt's would prove to be, and what kind of boys her four cousins were. Most uncouth they must be, living, as they did, so far from any town, and not having even a sister to soften their natures, and teach them consideration for others. A weary time enough, in all likelihood, would poor Lenchen spend down in the country. And so, with a great sigh, she fell fast asleep in the midst of her speculations.

CHAPTER II.

THE RUSTICATION-THE COUSINS, FRANZ, FRITZ, HANS, AND WILHELM.

AUNT Caroline was delighted. Of course she was. Ay, and would have been doubly so, had she known what a dear, warm-hearted, loving little niece she possessed. As it was, she declared herself most gratified, and proved her satisfaction by coming up, without loss of time, in a big, old-fashioned carriage, that she might in person take care of Lenchen during the journey.

The Aunt Caroline looked on her niece with pleasure, though in her heart she felt a sorrowing pity to see her of so delicate a frame, and with such a pale face, so different from the plump figures and rosy cheeks of the robust, country-bred damsels to whom she was

accustomed. She was herself a tall, strong, energetic woman, at times, indeed, somewhat uncomfortably so; but her little niece had no reason to complain of any rudeness or hardness, or unpleasantness. With little Lenchen, so soft and child-like, and fragile, the Aunt Caroline was all kindness and consideration, and gentleness. The most womanly of women could not have been more lovingly tender of the health and feelings of her little charge.

The good mamma wept almost as bitterly when her Lenchen was going away with her aunt as she had done when her pet left her to go to the convent-school in Belgium. Indeed, had there been a husband in the case, about to take her for good and all, the poor lady could hardly have wept more. As for the Herr Papa, spite of his superior wisdom and sense, it was quite certain that when little Lenchen stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and with her small arms drew down his face to her own, she saw his eyes brimful of tears. Big tears, too, that fell on her cheeks when he returned her kiss, and little Lenchen knew very well why it was he so hastily removed her clasp, and turned to Aunt Caroline to say good bye.

Lenchen, with all her faults, had a grateful and loving heart, and she forced herself to smile and look cheerful, and did so, too, as long as it was necessary to keep up appearances. But when she had taken her seat in the carriage, and was whirled away, she laid her pretty head on the Aunt Caroline's breast, and allowed herself to weep unrestrainedly. The Aunt Caroline, being a sensible woman, allowed her niece's tears to flow on unreproved.. And after a time, the dear child became weary, and lay quietly enough in those kind arms so gently enfolding her. Then the good aunt began telling her about the home which for a time was to be hers, and spoke warmly of the pleasures of a country life; simple, but most sweet. And then she told Lenchen of some of the exploits of her four sons, as brave and high-spirited boys, she proudly said, as one could wish to find. And Lenchen, catching something of her aunt's ideas, began to think that, perhaps, after all, her country cousins might not prove to be quite the rude beings she had expected, but only, of course, different from the gentlemen she had been accustomed to meet in Cologne.

3

As it grew dark and evening fell, Lenchen began to feel very tired and drowsy, and quite unconsciously she fell fast asleep in the midst of one of her aunt's stories about her son Franz's daring as a hunter. And she went on dreaming of sportsmen, and enormous deer, and wonderful leaps, and hair-breadth escapes down precipices and in gloomy forests, until at length the carriage stopped suddenly, and Lenchen awoke with a start to hear Aunt Caroline's cheery voice announce their arrival" at home."

At home, sure enough, they were. Hardly were Lenchen's eyes rightly opened, when they were completely dazzled by a flashing of lights issuing from the now open house-door. There was an amazing clatter of voices, of various tones, all mingling together, laugh

ing and welcoming the new arrivals. Lenchen looked out with a wondering curiosity, taking a peep into the large, bright hall, with its blazing fire, and dark, oddly-fashioned furniture; and then glancing at the new faces that came crowding round the carriage, looking so cheery and good-humoured, that it was a pleasure to see them. A minute sufficed to shew all this, and then the carriage-door was pulled open by a tall, black-eyed fellow, who seemed as strong and vigorous as only a country-bred man can look. Then he peered into the carriage curiously, and smiled a very broad smile.

"This is your cousin Lenchen, Franz," said Aunt Caroline;"take her into the house, the first thing, out of the cold night air."

No sooner said than done. Without as much as "by your leave," the astonished Lenchen was whipped out by a pair of brawny arms, found herself, willy-nilly, and in the twinkling of an eye, seated on one of the brawny arms that had pulled her from her corner in the carriage, whilst another grasped her waist; one of her small arms, meanwhile, having been flung unconsciously round a neck far too large to be encircled. And with a shout of merriment from her captor, thus was she borne within the bright hall and placed in a chair by the fire —she panting, partly from offended dignity, and partly from surprise. And her cousin Franz, standing full before her in the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, smiled most approvingly as he surveyed her: smiling, first because he thought his cousin a most bewitching little lady-so far as personal appearance went-and smiling, also, because he had just proved to this admirable epitome of beauty, his power and his will to serve her and give her pleasure.

Cousin Franz, it will be seen, saw matters from a different point of view with his cousin Lenchen.

Before the little lady could possibly decide whether it would be better to laugh or cry at such very rough treatment, big, black-eyed cousin Franz was off to welcome his mother at the door, and a white-haired gentleman was kissing Fraulein Lenchen, and introduc ing himself as the uncle Hubert, and the two dark-looking young men beside him as cousins Fritz and Hans, and the fair, blue-eyed youth as cousin Wilhelm. And hardly had Lenchen duly acknowledged the relationships, when Aunt Caroline was beside her again, to conduct her upstairs to the charming little room prepared for her guest.

Left alone in the little chamber, Lenchen stood just where her aunt had left her, right in front of the crackling and blazing fire, apparently studying its construction and arrangement, in reality repassing in her mind the crowded and confused scene of the past few minutes striving to reduce it to something like order; striving to reinstate herself in the somewhat scattered dignity of the full-grown lady of nineteen, which had certainly been altogether unheeded and set at nought by the big cousin Franz, and, in a less degree, by cousins Hans, Fritz, and Wilhelm. Their manners were, beyond a doubt, very different from